I must I must.......

I’m nothing if not consistent.
Most of my posts start with ‘not done much running’ and this one is no different.
Last proper run I had, and I don’t even know if it warrant’s the label run; was on the WHW a couple weeks ago with the Pirate. You’ll have heard about it already….it’s the one where I lost my key. I know don’t laugh.

Well, last night was my last duty as the Striders President. I handed over the reins to Tom Wilson, a stalwart of the club for more years than nearly everyone but his wife.
It was a nice night and great to hear some inspiring stories, in particular our Strider of the Year who at almost twice my age decided to take up running and has cracked out a couple of 10ks a half and cross country. She puts me to shame.

I‘ve also been inspired by a fellow blogger who has transformed herself by hard work and determination and I have to say a hefty dose of dedication to be confident enough to enter shows such as UKBFF. I don’t aspire to do anything similar but talk of shifting weight and smashing yourself in the gym has some sort of masochistic draw for me.

I decided that over the winter I need to do something more than just plod round the streets of Strathaven and after a comical session in a plush David Lloyd with the Pirate I bit the bullet and joined my local gym. When David the lovely instructor was putting me through my paces he assured me that light weight and high reps would not bulk me up. The poor lad nearly fell over when I said I had no problem with it. Apparently women are scared of a bit of muscle, well not this burd. My good buddy Karen has some crackin guns :)

The comical session was such as the Pirate used to be into all that lark in a big way in a past life and almost pissed himself at the weedy effort I put in.

Undeterred I try my hardest. I really enjoy it. I stay away from all those big clunky machines, as I’d just hurt my self, break a nail or get my hair stuck.
I find it really helps with clearing my head, which needs a good clear at the moment.

It’s been a rough few weeks. Strikes affect all those connected with them. Trying to support from so far away is heartbreaking and very stressful. I’ve been watching BBC London and listening to LBC podcasts to keep up to date. Not bad for a burd from a wee farming town in a Scottish back water. I’ve become a WAGOFF, a kind of underground facebook AA meeting. Magic bunch of girls talking rubbish, great medicine. I've learned that the Toad and his Biatch are vermin and that James O'Brien should be King.

So, tonight I have a date with some piddly free weights. Saturday I have a date with a bit of a trail race and Sunday if it’s not too snowy I’m going to visit a friend in the Playground of Angels, just to say thanks.

Hasta luego xx

Points of view

I'm sure most folk that read the drivel I scrawl on here are aware that me n him are how would you put it....dating, courting, the gither call it what you will he's my fella.
You will also know if you read his blog that he errs strongly on the side of artistic licence on many occasions and the truth is often stretched to the point of ssssssss in snap!!

His most recent post has caused me some concern and like 'angry from Manchester' I feel compelled to reply.
Oh I'm not getting on my high horse about the eyelash comment. I was there, he was there and so was John Kynason, (although he doesn't know that) we both know the score :)

No, I'm a bit concerned that as a self proclaimed state trained killer he could make such a school boy error.
When babies are lying in a crib current research shows that moving stimulation is good for their development. You know, those mobile thingumyjigs. Black and white are the colours of choice, they can even distinguish between them.

Tell my why then, that a 43 year old adult who is often to be found in charge of a fire engine cannot tell the difference between black and white?!?

Grant Jeans was most definitely dressed head to toe in undertakers BLACK on RAW race day, no sign of any Ku Klux Klan garb on show.
It was back in July Speedy himself decided that Casper the friendly Ghost was a good look for racing;) Who cares? the boy can go like shit off a shovel he can wear what ever he damn well wants.
And hanging round at the arse end of a race shows good character in the boy.

So, the next point. The lack of artistic licence in this post. See the bit where he mentions ' I should have done some training' at every checkpoint.......check it out......hee haw artistic licence


Coming into Sorn checkpoint. The one with the blistered foot!!


Eyelash Bridge.


The finish, and a PB. You can just about make out Casper blethering in the background.

And I do it all for free :)

Ultra Road Trip

I’m not a complicated person. I don’t need 5 star luxury, first class travel and eiderdown duvets. This summer I have spent my time mostly helping out at races, going to gigs and camping.
All good as far as I’m concerned. Hannah, my wee girl has gotten into the habit of asking ‘what race are we at this weekend Mum?’ She’s a dab hand at the old marshalling lark.

This year the Mac Pirates have been well travelled.
Yorkshire for the Hardmoors in March. ½ of the WHW for the Fling. Glenshee for Cateran in May. ¾ of the WHW in June. The Clyde Walk Way (umpteen times!!) in July for my race the Clyde Stride. A weekend at home for the Round Strathaven 50 in August. RAW & a 2nd Hardmoors in September. Phew! what a season. It’s been fantastic, sharing the highs and low’s, successes and otherwise with an amazing bunch of people.

I thought that was it ‘til the Run with the Wind 10k in November. I’m off on holiday for a week from tomorrow. I have dreams of long walks, long lunches and long lies. I didn’t however account for Richie C running Caesar’s Camp this weekend and as it is only ½ hour away from our Southern abode it would be rude not to go along and cheer him on.

We can’t hang around too long though, as the Pirate and I are off to see Mumford and Sons at the Apollo. Living 400 miles apart aint much fun, in fact it’s a bloody nightmare. However the one thing going for it is when gigs are sold out in Glasgow we have an alternative :)

So far this year we’ve seen Caitlin Rose twice, The Airborne Toxic Event and a couple more to come.

I would like to think that a wee rest is in order. But already I’ve been ‘volunteered’ to start the year as we mean to go on. Jon Steele is hosting an ultra on New Years day. Does he not know I’m Scottish?


Me, Jon Steele and Mike Mason at HM55


The Striders Massive at the Fling. 4 Relay teams and counting.


Karens Cateran Trail Race. The usual suspects less a certain Pirate.


Team Waterman at the WHWR.


Tarholm Bridge RAW 2010.

I am now technically not ‘Mrs’ anything but Ms. Mac doesn’t seem to work the same so Mrs Mac I will remain.

In For A Penny In for A Pound

Well, another weekend of hee haw running.

Friday lunchtime Scanners picks me up from work and we head westwards for a rendezvous with a Ryan Air freedom bird.
Our timing was precise…..we had to give ourselves plenty of time for some Pina Colada, our habitual drink of choice as we make our way to our respective other halves in the land south of Hadrians protective wall.

What we did not account for was some feckin’ road works coming down the A77 causing a 2 mile tailback. There was a brief moment of panic not that we’d miss the flight, but that sitting here idle was eating into our cocktail hour!!

Disaster was averted as we arrived at Prestwick to be advised of a 1 hour delay. A chorus of ‘ya beauty’ rang round the departure lounge as we set about clearing them out of Pina Colada before moving on to Cosmopolitans ;) This delay meant that Pirate Boy was finished work and in the pub when I arrived.
Oh well…. When in Rome and all that.
Had a nice evening in the company of a mixed bag of Blue Watches’ finest.

I think it’s time I put all this socialising behind me and get on with some proper training.
I take a bit of a slagging about being a running club president but doing very little actual running.
Well, I have just agreed to something that means I really WILL have to do some proper training. PPPPPP and all that.

Anyone got a marathon training plan they can lend me? And no Pirate Boy, I will not be following your training schedule of apply, rest for 6 months, get up and run following 10 pints.

I really must work harder on saying NO.

This wee song kind of fits, enjoy. Mrs Mac x

Strathaven Striders via Findon and the Clyde Stride

Good God how long has it been since I blogged? About as long as it has been since I did any proper running I guess.

Well I’ve been a little busy you understand.
Since our trip to Skye I managed to clock up 1500 miles of driving.

In the week leading up to the race I was back and forth on the Clyde Walk Way every night armed with spray paint and a shed load of pointy arrows. Not all of which were evident on the day I may add gggggrrrrrrrr.

Race day brought more spray painting by my number 2.
It was a great day, if a little stressful. Not enough to put me off doing it again next year.

I had a week at work to wind down before having a week off.

Packed the kids and enough camping gear in the car to head south for a week.

We, the Brady Bunch had a date at a 120 Rally. I was a little confused but it turns out you can’t have a ‘party’ at a CCC site……but a RALLY is fine!! Lol it was great. Chilling out, loads of kids running free and a lovely family atmosphere. Findon is a strange little village, the essence of English quaintness. The exact opposite of Brighton, where we took a day trip. Probably the most expensive place to park……in the world!!

My number 2 was working the rest of the week so I set about entertaining the children.
*Night out at the flicks for Toy Story 3D, awwwwwww.
*A wander round the Devils Punch Bowl. (Has the makings of a nice wee race. I’ve been told not to even think about it!)
*Day out at the Hard Rock Café, do they not do the wee show thing in London?
*‘Working’ at the boxing. Wtf, I’m on my hols…. That’ll teach me to open my mouth and volunteer for stuff. Quite surreal, a random Scottish burd talking to a bunch of teenagers from Wandsworth about the dangers of smoking and alcohol. I bet they know more than me.
*A trip to Camden had the kid’s eyes out on stalks; they didn’t know where to look next. Defo worth a visit. Good food, loads to see and not expensive.

Finished off with a 400 mile drive north, caught in the M25, loads of tears, a quick kip and then taking the wee yin to Port Patrick for a week with the oldies.

And so, after a week of red wine, kettle chips and cuddles it’s time to get back in the saddle.
I planned a nice little trot round the town with the club on Monday, but as it was the first Monday of the month John the Coach had other ideas. Hill reps Holy Christ, not the best way to kick start your training.
Legs were proper stiff, so last night I ditched them, the club not my legs, put Caitlin on the ipod and had a go at putting one foot in front of the other at speed.
A start is a start and it looks as though I'm gonna have to take the plunge and do some REAL training; Colin Smith has plans for me ;)

Probably better if I do a photo diary of what’s gone on.

Speed Bonnie Boat

The Pirate jumped in the Bad boy at half past whatever o'clock.
I worked late, or was supposed to.
I waited up til 2am for him to arrive in the Land of Jock.

Early doors the next day we fill my motor full of enough camping kit to open Strathavens very own branch of Millets.
So me, the pirate, the two weans and a pal head north.
Our planned destination?
Sunny Skye.
Wtf? For a weekend that's too far.
That's what you think.

We have a wee stop off to make and it gives the weans their first taste of trotting on the WHW. My son, the big lanky dreip reckons he and his mate are gona 'do' it next year, ha ha we'll see.
Phase one of our secret mission is complete and we continue our journey. I opt to drive, not least as an act of kindness to the pirate for driving 400 miles through the night, but come on all those bodies squeezed into a sardine can Corsa.... I had the best seat in the house.

We finally arrive at our chosen camp site, only after 'sandal-gate' and pitch our tents.

Heaven on Earth.
It truly was. Almost midnight, the sun not quite set against the backdrop of Lewis and Harris. Camped in a large flat meadow. A wide sheltered bay to the left, a ruined castle perched precariously close to the edge of the cliff to our right. I felt lucky to be there. A spot I had often heard about over the past couple of years. And finally seeing it with my own eyes.

The sound of the children laughing hysterically as they raced each other in their sleeping bags, filled me with such a feeling of happiness. At 16 years old it's not cool to play with your sister, let alone enjoy spending time with your olds.

The Quirainge. Or Kerrang if you're 16. Spectacular. I ain't one for heights. Not so much the hight. It's the drop that bothers me. So the girls and I wimp out 2/3rds of the way up leaving the lanky driep to chase the pirates tail. They eventually return, the pirate with that tell tale sparkle in the eye that says my knees are hurting but I just HAD to run. The boy? The one that does hee haw exercise? Hardly broke sweat. Swine.

Next, The Old Man of Storr. WOW. It's amazing what a little bit of work will reward you with. Quite stunning. And a wee extra reward. A run back down the hill. Just for the record I most definitely had the wrong bra on that day. I had to tie my fleece round my boobs to stop them jiggling about.

Children (?) are rewarded with a visit to the pub and a perfect day comes to an end.

All too soon it's Sunday and it's time to pack up and head home. Much to the disappointment to all.
One last walk over some serious moorland leads us to the gob smackingly beautiful cliff top at the Lookout. Possibly the best kept bothy in Scotland. We were not lucky enough to spot any minky or killer whales but my son has found his new favourite place in the world.

Phase 2 of the secret mission is completed on the way home and it is with heavy hearts we arrive back in Strathaven. Tired but touched the weekend we shared.

Was it too far for a weekend?
Never.

I didn't work too late that Thursday. My Dad called me at work to tell my my friend had passed away not half an hour earlier. A young man in his prime with everything to live for. Gone at 33.

Don't listen to those who say it's too far, it's too much. If it's worth doing, do it now. You might not always have the chance.

Defloration of Virgin Backup

It was nearly two weeks ago and I guess most folk have already told their story, and much more eloquently than I will but this story needs to be told.

DNF??? who gives a flying foxtrot what its called. There are not many eejits out there who could complete 75 miles on the back of two 20 mile training runs. Just because you don't reach the end doesn't mean you've failed. 75 miles is a fuckin major achievement in my book. Some people need to learn it's ok to be proud of yourself.

I was bricking it big time. From a good few weeks before the race. I'm a planner I like to know about order, schedules blah blah blah. I know, I know all very boring but it's what makes me tick.
But when your runner; a particularly laid back pirate type subversive runner couldn't give two hoots about planning, it tends to give one the jitters!!

I waited with baited breath for Ali B's words of wisdom, and nuggets of pure gold they were too. Crackers like -
1.Accept that if anything goes wrong during the race it's always your fault.
And -2. NEVER EAT OR DRINK YOUR RUNNER'S STUFF!

Nuggets stored are ready for recall at a moments notice. I received some fantastic advice from an unexpected source. Real proper serious advice. No messin around jokey nonsence. Maya Lucas is a total legend very professional and maybe if I'd employed just one of her techniques we could have inched our pirate runner just that little bit further.

I wasn't on my own, obviously.?!? that's not allowed, against the rules, and there is no way I'd be involved in any manipulation of the law. No, there was me, the other Lee and big Chris.

My biggest worry was the chaps are used to a jolly boys weekend away with their mucker's from other fire-stations and generally cajagole some other firemen up the WHW. This year they would be stuck with a miserable old bint and their mates burd to boot for 36 hours straight. Sounds like a barrel load of fun, right?
I needn't have worried. They seemed to enjoy themselves. At least some of the time. Mainly around the time that Wee Hannah's home-made fruit scones got handed round.

I'll not bore you with the tedium of a blow by blow account of our weekend. But here are some admissions and highlights.

I packed a couple of tents and doss bags 'just in case' and didn't tell the Pirate in case he thought I didn't believe in him.

I fell asleep at Bridge of Orchy after a nice plate of stew and had to be woken up by my runner.

I was gutted I didn't get the chance to go over the Devils, and felt I had let him down by not getting my shoes on earlier.

After the prize giving I brought Fiona Rennie out to the car even though he didn't want to talk to anyone.

So that's it. WHWR 2010. Not a completion but most definitely not a failure.
Will I be back? Well that depends on my runner.

Beetroot Juice For Backup?

It seems that Beetroot juice is the new holy water for ultra runners. Elixir, giver of life call it what you will. Is it still Red Bull for backup crews?

There has been lots of talk on the runners blogs about taper niggles, nerves and the like.
I’ve been waiting on Ali B’s words of wisdom for backup crews but she’s in the zone right now and Clark, purveyor of pain is sorting her right out.

So I’m out here on a limb, flapping like a one winged seagull going round in circles.

This year is my first full on attempt at backup for the Pirate. Now, I’ve supported him before on a couple of races.

The first one was RAW 2008, the year of the 30mph sign!!
The Race Princess and my self dawdled up and down the roads of Ayrshire having a jolly old time to ourselves. Shouting the odd word of encouragement and lobbing the occasional mars bar at the boys when required.
The next year was a bit more professional, decent food, plenty fluid and not too much bevy the night before. I even got out and ran a bit.

But the WHW Race is a whole new kettle of fish.

I’m very comfortable with my role as Keeper of the Auchtertyre checkpoint.
Happy with hollering at folk who park in the most inappropriate places.
Happy to insist a runner takes 10 minutes to refuel to keep their weight in check (even if they don’t like it at the time)
And happy to spend hours on the phone to the Race Princess updating her on the comings and goings of the runners through the CP ensuring everyone is accounted for.

I’m a bit of a control freak. I’m ok with that.
The Pirate on the other hand is almost horizontal in the laid back stakes.

I like lists and spreadsheets, not as much as JK right enough.
By now I should have compiled a shopping list; the Pirate is flying up and can’t bring much.
I’d like to have a timing schedule, a very rough one of course.
I’d have liked a wee meeting with ‘Team Waterman’ but no can do.

So, next Thursday evening when three London firemen arrive at my front door I’m likely to implode.

The PLAN? Just turn up and run.

Stressed? Me? never. Scared of cocking it up, Shitting a brick? Quite possibly.

And The Rest Is History

The Pirates post about natural order got me thinking.

The local authority in which I live is undertaking a huge schools modernisation programme at the moment. It’s been on the go for a few years now.

The school where I spent my teenage years has finally been demolished. All that remains is a smoking pile of rubble. It was used as a decant facility while a number of older schools were rebuilt. Strathaven Academy being one of them, so it meant that my big lanky son attended it for a couple of years. Kind of strange attending parent’s night in your old school.

Anyway, the imminent demise of said educational establishment struck a cord with a former student and prompted the creation on a face book page celebrating the survivors of Ballerup High School.
Now I have been known to spend an inordinate amount of time on that particular social networking site, green dotting until the wee hours of the morning.

My membership of the group has put me back in touch with many an old school friend I had long since lost touch with. I left school and moved away from my hometown with in a month of each other.

I was one of those invisible people at school. Not ultra clever, nor uber delinquent, just sort of flew under the radar. I didn’t go to school discos coz they were always on a Friday and a Friday was a Karate night. God I sound like such a geek. Nae wonder I was invisible.

I got a message the other night from a lad I grew up with and he mentioned an old primary school photo that someone had posted.

Oh no, I thought.
'I don’t want to see it. I’ll stand out like a sore thumb.'

I was always in the back row along with all the boys. Being tall was not much of a laugh when you're 11 or 12.

'No, its ok don’t worry. You’re in the middle row. Ah, but you still might not want to see it.'

Why? said I.

Coz we’ve got the same haircut!!! Remember your Mum used to cut all our hair!?!

OMG I had forgotten all about that, or more like wiped it from my memory. Oh, I shudder at the thought of all those awful school photos.

I think I’ll just keep those school memories locked up where they should be. Firmly in the past ;-)

A Wild Weekend

The conductor breenges through the sliding door and sets about turfing people from their seats.
Make way, move it fatty. Beat it. She rearranges the furniture to accommodate these two geezers and a shit load of gear.

Now I had only moments earlier bagged myself one of those coveted table seats with the socket for my laptop. For I planned to get properly smashed out of my box on pink wine and watch Atonement on DVD.
Alas Atonement went unwatched, but I had one of the most interesting train journeys in a long time.

I had missed the earlier train by 5 seconds. I swear that guy cackled as he flicked the switch and closed the doors right in my face. I had two choices. Gracefully walk back down the platform heading straight for the nearest pub and indulge in a spot of early evening power drinking or crumple in a heap right there and blub like a baby for the next ten minutes. Take a guess dear reader.

By the time I actually got on the train I was ready for a session. I knew it was never going to be peaceful, but these to geezers just took over the place. They had more gear stuffed into rucksacks, soft bags, hard bags and I've never seen so many bungee cords wtf?!?

So my bottle of pink wine is opened and I neck the first glass, ahhhhhh and breath.
I am minding my own business, writing up some notes for the Clyde Stride runners and marshalls. And these two are jabbering on Olympic athletes this photo shoot that and my ears prick up. Oooo that sounds cool. Now it's hard not to listen in, especially when folk are sitting next to you. Honest, Your Honor. Next thing I know we're engaging in a spot of banter. I was warned before that I've not to talk to strange men on trains; it gets me into trouble (more about that later in the year).

Five minutes later this dude casually walks down the carriage. It's only the guy they've just been shooting. He's familiar to me but I can't place him. So he ditches his first class seat to comes and slum it in cattle class with the photographers. The penny drops. Its Leon Taylor Olympic diving silver medalist and mentor to wee Tom Daly. He's into sports psychology and the next thing I know we're blethering about ultra marathons. All very surreal. The rest of the journey passes in a flash while I am entertained with witty banter, political (ahem) debate and stories of frozen hair.

My weekend got progressively crazier. The Pirate and I travelled up town, north of the river no less to attend the most unique gig ever. The incredibly talented Caitlin Rose was gigging in a cinema in Islington and we had standing tickets right next to the bar. For future reference you need more that 5 minutes to drink a whole bottle of wine and still catch the night bus home. It was around this time I indulged in my only running of the weekend. Up and down streets checking bus stops for an N19. She was amazing, if only slightly pissed. Much the same as the rest of us.

A slightly delicate Pirate drove us home from our city crash pad in time for a quick shower and head back up town, north of the river again to Camden. Twice in two days I'm surprised it didn't give him a nose bleed. We were to meet up with a bunch of his old mates from his rockabilly days. Now I've never been to a rockabilly club, I'm too young you see, and not wanting to look out of place I asked for advice on what to wear.
'Aucht I'm only wearing my jeans. You do the same.' I'm so glad I completely ignored this instruction and went for all out glamour. The tightest fitting tiny waisted below knee dress I could find. The reddest lipstick I could lay my hands on and the biggest hair I could fashion.

Talk about double standards. The blokes had followed the Pirates lead and were dressed identically in manky blue jeans, boots, and tee shirts. The girls however......weet woo.
I had a nice time, the blokes were all lovely and made me feel very welcome, but I like my fella scrubbed up well in a uniform ;-)

For your viewing pleasure check out the amazing Miss Caitlin Rose

Ultra Deluded

It's amazing how surrounding yourself with people who “do” lulls you in to the belief that maybe you could “do” too

Last year, after the Cally Challenge I remember having a conversation about how I should keep the momentum going and get stuck into the next challenge.
I had deluded dreams about having a crack at RAW. Maybe not all of it, but half should be do'able. What I didn't account for was having a training partner who on the face of it would be ideal for motivating me to get my arse in gear, but who would sooner crack open another bottle of 14.5% at twenty to midnight. Managing 12 miles was my limit last year, broken into two legs. If it wasn't for Big Davie the Polis the last leg would have been shorter.

This year it's the Montane Highland Fling. I've been chatting to lots of club mates, first time flinger's and associated mates who are all buzzing about it. I've even been offered training runs already, ahhh the perils of red wine and Facebook :-)
One leg of a relay does not a potential ultra runner make.

My other half hates running, and runners even more; so I've got nae chance of help there.
I said in my last post I was going to stick to marshalling and my new found status as race director.
But do you know what? I'd like to run a bit more..... further I mean.
How do you do it?
Just get out there and put one foot in front of the other?
Is there more too it than that?
Of course there is. The whole mental side is a biggy for me.
I'm an emotional creature. A wreck if you will. I can cry at the drop of a hat.
I need support that nurtures me along. TTFU doesn't work here. U'uh girlfriend. I need there, there, there.

It's a whole year away plenty time to think about it. I guess in the meantime I either get out there and put one foot in front of the other or crack open another bottle.
What-cha reckon?

Mrs Mac x

Ignorance Is Bliss

Aucht a few wee ups and downs twists and turns. It'll be grand.
Oh My Good God why did no one tell me the truth.
I remember making a phone call and whinging down the phone
“ why did you let me do this, you should have told me, I'm nowhere near fit enough to do this blah blah blah moan moan”
You get the gist.

All for one bloody leg of the Fling.

I was in a team with my fella, my bro and a lassie from my club. The plan was The Pirate would set off a bit earlier with the men and cover the first leg as a warm up. He was supposed to take it easy and arrive with time to spare before taking over for his own leg from Karen. Karen's fella was giving me a lift to the next relay handover and then on to Rowardennan. He took a wee detour via his mates garden centre before arriving in Drymen. The Pirate meanwhile was having a coronary and gagging for a drink.
We duly arrive, sort out the boy and when the change over is done I wave him off with some water, coke and sweeties a little worried coz I'm not going to see him til Rowardennan.

The perils of car sharing quickly became evident when after arriving in Rowardennan I get a frantic call asking where I am as he's out of water and nothing to eat. I am helpless and unable to respond. I begin to worry. The injury which has plagued him for the past couple of months had flared up and was giving him bother.

Time was slipping and I knew he was suffering. I aimlessly wandered around the car park constantly looking at my phone desperately wanting to call but I knew that would be no help, and possibly even more demoralising. I had to wait it out and my ignorance of the route showed again when the call came that he was near, but not yet at the road I had no clue where that was.

I met him with some water and we changed over the sash and the chip. I was on. Mrs W was doing the same leg as me in the second of the Striders four teams so it was good to have some company and to be honest if it wasn't for her I would have ended up a snivelling mess sitting on a rock refusing to move like a stubborn old goat. I knew about the long incline out of the checkpoint and the Pirate described it as the motorway. We chatted and enjoyed the sun. Very aware that time was gonna be tight. I've never run more that a half marathon, so realising what I thought was a 12 mile section was actually 13.6 (13.94 according to Jo's info) gave me my first wobble.

We cracked on passed lots of walkers who looked completely hacked off about having to step out the road AGAIN for a couple of johnny-come-latelys. When we arrived at Inversnaid I was chuffed to see my Maw n Paw and their crazy dug. I was under strict instructions to keep moving and no gabbing.

What the hell is that all about?......in my last post I said I would go like shit of a shovel for as long as I could. Why oh why did nobody tell me that was NEVER gonna happen.
As a marshall for a number of years at various events I am constantly in awe of what people achieve but my experience between Inversnaid and Bein Glas has shed a whole new light on it. I don't know how people keep all the way to Fort Bill.

I fell and smashed my knee and shoulder and launched my phone about 20 feet away. I bubbled and snivelled and whinged some more. My call for a pep talk was a big mistake

“its only 13 miles, get a move on woman, now you know how it feels. Oh I'm just having a glass of wine”

That was enough to boot me up the backside and get moving again. I was still feeling sorry for myself and dragging my feet and out of know where Dario popped into my head. It must have been around Doune Bothy, near where his book is buried, but again due to my ignorance of the route I don't actually know where that is. I got angry with myself and I swore out loud, right ya bastard, TTFU.

I passed a few blokes looking worse for wear and checked they were ok. One guy was really annoyed with himself coz he had to pull out of the WHWR at exactly the same spot. I passed the sweeper and cracked on for the last two miles. Mrs W came back out to meet me for .37 miles. I was so glad to hear I was nearly done. 13.something miles is a piece of piss I'm told. But for me it is all relative.

When I finished I downed a lager shandy and realised that's exactly what I am. A shandy drinker, a lightweight. I'm a marshall I know my place.

The post race ceilidh was magic. The Strathaven Striders lived up to their moto of being a drinking club with a running problem. Boy do they know how to party.

Tonight we had a wee run and a pint. Everyone is still buzzing about it. We had 4 relay teams and 3 individuals. It's already on our list for next years club outing. Just as long as Murdo will have us back, and he lets me have my marshall jacket back again.

Thank you to my team mates Dave, Karen and Chris.
Well done to everyone to took part, marshalled, took care of car park duty, took photies, and cheered and clapped.

Ignorance is bliss.

Having a Highland Hoolie

On Saturday I will rock up to the Montane Highland Fling along with a gazillion other punters and run like the clappers up the West Highland Way.

Ok so I’m only doing one leg of the relay but it’s a big deal for me. I have only ever run a half marathon, on the road and hated every single solitary minute of it.
My Maw and her bright ideas, eh?

The Fling was one of her ideas too. As was my only real experience on the WHW, the Caledonian Challenge last year. Now that was a different story.
Totally unprepared as far as knowledge of the route goes. Not very prepared physically due to my Da having cancer and the various illnesses I suffered but I loved it.
ALL of it even the horrible bits.

So knowing I have covered half of the Way, going backwards in less than 24hrs I’m sure running 13 miles or so should be ok.

We’ve had a bit of a hiccup and had to replace said Maw with a cracking lassie from the club. The volcanic ash cloud is giving us a bit of grief too. Preventing the Pirate from enjoying a leisurely flight up and replacing it with a train journey north and having to drive his motor south again.
So all in all not the best preparation.

My plan?
Arrive, put my gutties on and go like shit off a shovel for as long as I can.

My goal?
To finish in one piece.

My motivation?
The support of my beloved…..

“As a team we may well achieve mediocrity but we're aiming for something far greater....right team!!??”

I'm looking forward to catching up with lots of friends, and esspecially the dancing at the end. Has the makings of tremendous weekend.

Bring It On!!

For The Love of a Bad Boy

Ooooo eeee what a whirl wind week.

The Pirate had his big boxing event last week, so me and my mate Scanners caught the last flight out of Prestwick and headed Sarf to live it up in the big smoke.

Scanners is a former footballer who knows a thing or two about busted knees and sports injuries. She played as a regular for Hamilton Accies and was even capped for Scotland. Right up until she ruptured her ACL and needed corrective surgery to put her back together again.
None of this stops her from putting the bevvy away and we did knock back a few cocktails before boarding the plane.

The Pirate met us from the plane and whisked us back to his gaff. The rest is history.

After a day of helping put the ring together and shifting boxing gear time for a wee bit of shopping before getting ready for the main event. Bit of a shame that the on coming station officer didn't know we were there and complained about having “half naked women” in his room. Lucky man I reckon.

The boxing was fantastic!! an excellent display of sportsmanship. For me its a chance to wear a pretty dress, but as someone brought up with combat sport in the blood, I can appreciate a good fight. If you ever get the chance, you gotta experience it. Did I mention my pretty dress????

Next day the Pirates phone was ringing off the hook with “well done mate” and “top night geez” and so it was. It is a very slick, professional event and could rival anything the bigboys could produce. I'm very proud of him.

So we dispatch Scanners to her fella in Colchester and set about chilling for a couple of days.
We were due to head for Bruges for a few days, but the small matter of an exploding bloody volcano meant that that idea was up the proverbial.
We had a fantastically relaxed time in a cracking wee B&B on the south coast.


Scanners and I were due to fly back to the land of Jock on Sunday night. We were so convinced that the whole volcano thing was a wind up by the boys at the station that we didn't take it that seriously. Big mistake...... luckily Dave is not in need of the 1.25l bad boy and I am trusted with her care to make the journey north taking in ¾ of the M25 along the way.

Tonight, well tonight I'm fecked. I crashed out early o'clock last night and my planned trot round the town tonight hasn't happened. Tomorrow I'll run with the club, mainly to firm up arrangements with the late substitution to our Fling Relay team. My Maw, bless her, has bowed out. Right decision, but she's feeling rubbish about it.

You-know-who has decided to do the whole lot, as 400 miles is a long way to travel for 1 leg of the Fling. Crazy dude. And now he has to drive home again too. Aucht well, it'll give him time to become reacquainted with his one true love..... the 1.25l bad boy.

See ya'll on Saturday. Get yer kilts at the ready ;-)

Belated Birthday Blog

Well it was supposed to be a blog about all the cool things I got up to for my birthday. Like camping in the Lowlands, doing a cracking long run with what's-his-name, having a slap up meal and getting properly smashed on some hideously expensive wine.

But it's no!!

Good Friday
Well, winter decided it wasn't finished with us just yet and ended any notion of a night under canvas.

Saturday
Then spring popped up a day too late, although we did have ice-cream on Prestwick beach while waiting for the Pirates plane to land.

So the Welshes all assembled at my bro's gaff and settled in front of the wide screen to watch the Hayemaker fight. The Pirate cracks on he knows a bit about pugilism but I'm not sure. He reckoned it was gonna crap fight......oh no it wisney!! It was a belter in the truest sense of the word.

Easter Sunday
The day dawns on my 37th birthday and crazy as it may sound when asked what I'd like to do, I still fancied a nice long slow run on the Clyde Walk Way through the Clyde Valley. Bloody winter was back again!! Pirate took one look out the curtains and proclaimed 'f*ck that'.

We made our way to my fave sea food gaff, Peter's for lunch. The rest is history.... I had a gorgeous meal, so did the wean. The Pirate on the other hand ate raw oysters and made himself proper ill.
I spent the rest of my birthday nursing him, poor lamb.
*Just for the record, he's a rubbish patient and wont be looked after.*

Easter Monday
Managed a nice run up to Aberfoyle on Easter Monday......it rained. We had a good giggle at the sheepdog show. A sheepdog herding ducks is a sight to behold.

And so it seems the wheels haven't fallen off completely, merely slackened a little and causing a wobble. My last post was a bit negative coz I had a crap run with the Striders last week. I've since checked the distance and the time wasn't anywhere near as bad I first thought, pretty good for me to be fair. Took me a whole week to find that out!

Hence I've been toying with the thought of saving my birthday money and giving in to one of those Garmin thingamabobs, but tonight's wee jaunt out confirmed I really need to invest in a pair of off road shoes. My shiny Brooks are getting trashed.

I think I may have wangled a run on the WHW at the weekend but I wont get my hopes up just yet :-)

More Torvill and Dean

That’s it. The wheels have fallen off.

I’ve had such a great couple of months running, really enjoying myself and feeling stronger and stronger. A bit gutted that none of this shows on the scale and I must still have a considerably wobbly bum right enough. But loving it none the less.

I even had a belter of a run on Saturday. The Pirate was faffing with his car, and the wee one (the little monster) was happily ensconced in the house watching Twilight. I decided that the murderous Epsom Downs route was within my capability and even on my own I should be able to navigate my way round.

Earlier on in the day we abandoned a trip to Brighton to go ice-skating as was the little monsters wish. She had been on the ice once before and had loved it, but she is a couple of years older now and is very self conscious, as all little girls become. We, the little monster and me (her Dad is a wuss) spent the next hour circling the rink a grand total of three times. God love the wee soul, she was convinced ‘I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die’ of course I would never let that happen and she breathed a sigh of relief when we left the ice. Asked later if she had fun, she gushed ‘yeah…. It was brilliant’.

While running I was lost in my own thoughts and thinking about how our confidence and belief in ourselef has a great deal influence on how we perform. Take the little monster, she was so sure she was going to fall and hurt her self that she couldn’t enjoy herself. She didn’t ‘believe’ she could do it.

I decided I needed to get over myself a wee bit and stop holding back running down hills. This is a problem for me. I convince myself that I’m gonna do myself an injury or fall flat on my face.

I was moving well, only got lost a couple of times. Mainly because the landscape is changing and there are flowers and trees in bud making it look very different. I even over took a horse and a mountain biker while going UP HILL. Then it happened. Slow motion, the lot!

I kicked a tree root and went flying through the air arse over t*t. I went my full length landing with a thud on the churned up clag that purports to be a trail. No harm done, but if I had performed such a trick a mere two hours previous it would surely have scored me a 5.5.

Cut to last night and a shitey run with the Striders. Nothing much to say. Felt rubbish before going out and it didn’t get any better.

If you’ve read my other half's blog you’ll have heard that he is planning a trip to the docs to get his bits chopped off. He reckons this is a revelation to me.
Well dear reader it is not. Check out the evidence.
We have the same size of feet (yeah yeah no jokes please) He thinks that I leave my stuff down there for convenience. But it’s for him. I’ve known for sometime. When my silky underwear started going missing I sussed it out. The last pair of shoes I left went down a storm. Whatcha think?

Fast Black

Turn on the news, pick up a paper and all you'll see and hear is doom and gloom.

Good news doesn't make the headlines. It's just not sensational enough.

But it's not all bad out there.

Last week my 85 year old grandmother had an operation to have a finger removed. I know sounds a bit drastic, but it was the result of her reluctance to attend hospital after a fall a couple of years ago.

A few days ago she could take the cabin fever no longer and called a cab to drop her 'down the street'.

Tea n cake and two bags of shopping later she calls for a lift home. Now Strathaven aint like the metropolis of East Kilbride from where she came. Round here you need to know a week from Wednesday that you'll need a cab.

The lady on the phone politely advises her that 'yes Mrs Anderson, you can have a car at 7pm' a mere 3 and a quarter hours away!!

A young couple over hear her plight and come to her rescue to offer her a lift home. She doesn't know them and they don't know her, but a sense of common decency wouldn't allow them to see her high and dry.

I'd like to be able to thank them but there are probably a few Helen and Jimmy's in Strathaven.

There's more good news..... It's Friday tomorrow.

And tomorrow it will mostly be doing this.........

Sitting on a train heading South with a bowl of pasta, a cheeky wee bottle of wine and a girly mag.

Enjoy the weekend :-)

Hardmoors 55. A Marshals Eye View

I wish I had known before hand that miles in Yorkshire are MUCH longer than standard miles.

The day got off to a rocky start due to a slight overindulgence in the staying-awake-late stakes.

Up and out the hotel door early o’clock, much to the surprise of the night porter. The Pirate and I were travelling in convoy and I was elected lead driver. A twisty turny journey to Helmsley took a great deal longer that expected.

On arrival we met up with lots of WHWR friends; Tim Downie, Sharon Law, JK & Doc McIntosh. It was great to finally meet Andy Cole, who ran the whole race in a flat cap. Top man!

Jon Steele, as expected had all the I’s dotted and T’s crossed. Very well organised indeed.

The runners were assembled outside for the start and a geezer from the National Park gave a speech about stunning vistas and dramatic views, none of which would be seen that day.

After the off the Pirate and I cooked up our breakfast on the veranda of the Football Pavilion, who said marshaling was hard work? The smell of sausages cooking in the open air is divine.

We cleared up and packed all the drop bags in to my wee Corsa and headed to Osmotherley Village Hall. Sue Knowles and I were chief cooks and bottle washers, with loads of help from Helen Withams daughter Clare. I didn’t think tea and coffee would be a big hit with the runners, how wrong was I? The freezing cold harsh conditions were beginning to take its toll and most people enjoyed a cuppa, even if it was only to heat up their hands.

The Drop bag facility worked very well here. Some runners were uber professional and had laminated cards with their particulars detailed precisely. Others scrawled their name and number with a biro.

The weather was reeking havoc with expected arrival times, and rather than freeze to death atop a hill The Pirate waited for the first runner to arrive before heading to his next checkpoint. The Pirate was dispatched to Carlton Bank just after 11am.

Given that the conditions were so tough most runners arrived in fine fettle and the banter was great in the hall. JK and Sharon arrived, following a wee detour, and quickly demolished the contents of their drop bags. Sharon was suffering the effects of the cold and struggled with her hands. I had to assist quite a few runners with gloves, zips water bottles and the like. It was then I realised just HOW hard the Hardmoors 55 is.

I saw Tim briefly as I was leaving for my next CP. Felt bad that I didn’t have time for a cuddle, coz I quite like them, but I was meeting Mike Mason, King of the Essex Underworld, and I didn’t want to keep him waiting. I’m quite attached to my kneecaps you know.

Mike and I were the keepers of the Kildale Hall checkpoint, about 42 miles in to the route. More tea and coffee available here and all the biscuits you could eat. Jon’s Mum and Dad were on hand for spotting runners approaching from the hill and taking pic’s. What a lovely couple.

Mike and I developed a system where he would head to the top of a hill check what the runner required and ran back to give me a heads up. This worked very well and again most people took advantage of a hot cuppa. Runners were looking very weary by this stage, and while the banter was still good the buzz was a little more subdued.

It was here that my WHWR buddies came a cropper. Doc McIntosh presented himself to me and declared himself out, along with two others. He was followed soon after by my wee mate Shazza. Sharon is a tough cookie and can handle most things thrown at her, however she arrived in tears and shaking uncontrollably. I was really concerned for her. Luckily, Julia, Helen Withams support had shed loads of spare clothes and we got her changed and into a sleeping bag and placed her next to the radiator. Tim was the next causality. He said it was the first time he thought he might actually die during a race. He made the right decision and I managed to organise some transport for them both back to the finish.

It was about now that the rain stopped and the sun came out. Talk about crap timing.

Mike’s wife Gill and daughter Sian arrived from their day trip armed with fish and chips and helped us clear up the hall. John Vernon was taking over from Mark Barnes as sweeper and I felt for him as he headed of into the dead of night to cross the moors.

I said my goodbyes to the Mason’s and headed off to meet the Pirate at the final CP a mile from the end. He had been there for hours and while I had armed him with copious amounts of food that could be easily reheated he had packed it all at the bottom of his Bergen. He told me once that he gets grumpy if he doesn’t eat…. We sat there in the pitch dark, careful not to destroy our night vision (?) it was like a stakeout. Something I have zero experience of, evidently.

It was eerie to watch the distant light from head torches bobbing along the top of the final hill down to us. As the clouds had lifted it caused the temperature to drop dramatically, but at least the final runners weren’t getting soaked anymore. John Vernon and Flip escorted their two charges to the finish line and we finally called a halt to Hardmoors 55 2010 just after midnight.

Jon Steele looked totally gubbed (sorry J) and relieved that while there were a few DNF’s everyone survived a brutal outing on the moors. A great event. I look forward to returning in the better weather to see those promised vistas.

My experience this weekend makes me thankful that my race, the Clyde Stride, is a relatively flat town and country event in the middle of summer ;-)

ps. I've just about forgiven Steve Walker for calling me a bloke :-)

Hardmoors 55 2010

Just a few pics from Hardmoors 55

You can feel the tension building.

Big Jon reminds everyone that they have to drop a can of beer with Dave as the pass the final checkpoint!!

Fake Bake And A Couple Of Tinnies

My printer is working overtime at the moment as it reams off all the available information for this weekends Hardmoors 55 trip.

Jon Steele runs a tight ship and as promised the event is being organised as a military operation. I’m a wee bit worried coz my military career is limited to a year in the air cadets when I was 13. Blue wasn’t my colour.

The poor Pirate is deflated not one but twice. His gammy ankle has prevented his participation on the run as a competitor and has been allocated some hefty checkpoint duties instead. Imagine his delight at hearing his main duty was adjacent to a public house. Imagine his subsequent horror at hearing the route has changed and he’s now posted on a disused railway line. I’m sure he’ll survive, although someone better drop by with a bottle of fake tan. He has taken to using it on his hair; you think I’m kidding ;-)

The HM55 looks like a cracking event, quite tough and a real challenge. I think it’s time I set my sights on some goals. Although some of the hair brained challenges I’ve heard about this week are a little beyond me, me thinks.

Mrs Wilson, Striders matriarch and WHWR veteran is just two runs short of her hundredth marathon. This feat will finally be achieved when she completes the Edinburgh marathon in May.

Craig Hamilton, former Striders president completed a double iron man last year, and to give himself a rest but still set a goal he decided to run everyday this year!! And I thought the Marcothoners were mad.

But to top it all, Tom Wilson, husband of above mentioned Mrs Wilson also ran everyday for a year and the next and some of the next. 1000 days of running back to back!!

You’re all mad, loop the loop. How did I ever get involved with you?

Now where is my knitting?

Ups and Downs

I think I painted myself in a pretty bad light in my last post. I’m not usually someone who parties hard all weekend. Honest. I like nothing better that curling up on the sofa with nice bottle of red, a big bag of kettle chips and watching a movie with my beloved. Circumstances have conspired against us in the past couple of weeks and have halted any such notion of domestic bliss.

This week I have redeemed myself, well sort of. My new Brook’s have been well and truly broken in. They are most definitely not shiny white any more.

Saturday was the Striders 2^nd annual cross country event, and my first. A club event, open to friends and family. At a quid for members and two for friends you cant go wrong.

There were two options; a short route and a long. I offered my services during the week thinking we always need marshals and was told “I’d prefer it if you ran” ok no probs.

I arrive at the village hall nice and early and chat with the assembled Striders. There are 60 people ready for the start line and there is quite a buzz. It’s a perfect day for it, like spring has truly sprung. It is only now I learn that of the 60 people registered only 6 of us are doing the long route; and the 5.5 miles I thought it was is actually 6.5. I really should pay attention.

It has been about four years since I’ve worn a Striders vest, apart from the Caley Challenge, I couldn’t tell you the last race I took part in.

I just don’t have that competitive streak any more. Years of spending my weekends at Karate competitions knocked that right out of me.

I was looking forward to taking part, and called the Pirate for some words of encouragement.

“Attack the race, no holding back. None of that namby pamby nonsense. Take them out, but don’t set off too fast” he then went into some sort of gobbledy gook about oxygen debt. Yeah yeah like I’d ever be going fast enough for that.

It was a crackin run. I loved every minute of it. A proper hard core route that went something like this.

Down, up. Into a field, down, cross the river, up. Over a stile into another field, down, cross the river, up, back down. Cross the river, up, down, run beside the river. Scramble on your hands and knees up an embankment. Up, down, up, up, up finish!!

You’ll have noticed there are quite a lot of ups and down’s….. Well it’s not called the Avon Valley for nothing!

I’m delighted to announce I was 3^rd lady. Well there were only 3 of us, but it sound’s good.

I still felt strong at the end which pleased me greatly, coz I had a night out with the girls to see Hormonal Housewives to prepare for and a pair of killer heels to wear. The price we pay for glamour ;-)

Mrs Mac x

It's A Small World

Monday was supposed to be just a wee gentle jog round the town, given that I had by my own admission ‘over indulged’ a little on the weekend.

Seeing my gaffer confirmed this to me.

Walking in to the office on Monday morning I was met by ‘I hear you can fairly put it away’. Now I’m not sure if that’s the Scottish vernacular; but generally it means I could give Oliver Reed a run for his money.

Anyway, my run. I headed out with a wee group and partnered a girl who is quite new to the club.

You know how you end up blethering and your pace just runs away with it’s self. Running the hills and allsorts I was.

We did the usual bit about what do you do, where do you work blah blah blah.

Turns out she’s Old Bill, CID none the less.

'Oh I met some of your colleagues on Friday' says I.

'Where was that?' She replied.

'The wee pub in Hamilton.' I continue.

'I was there too!' She exclamied.

Uh oh, I think I used the term diddies in my last post.

Better not let her see it then.

Lucky for me she had gone home before we arrived.

She agreed they are indeed Diddies.

It sure is a small world.

Drunken Mayhem

I have been accused of getting too serious about running and taking it to extremes by posting piccies of my lovely new shiny white shoes.

Well, as if by magic and as instructed I did indeed have a weekend of drunken mayhem!
It all kicked off on Friday by what is known in these parts as a 'straightfae'. You know when you get on it straight from work?

Well, left the office at 3pm. Our meal for eleven was drastically reduced to seven as a result of illness and injury. Poor Malcolm had to endure the maniacal witterings of six female colleagues who 'aint been out in a while. The baby of the office let the side down badly by announcing that 15:30hrs was far too early to start drinking, wtf!! what is it with the youth of today? One large glass of red wine, a three course lunch, two raspberry martinis and a Morgans 'n' diet coke got the night off to a good start ;-)



Gorgeous Kit is the first to bail. Followed soon after by Malcolm, who cuts away early to tend to his husbandly duties followed swiftly by the gaffer and the baby. I thought these guys were hardcore. I've heard stories of 5am karaoke sessions. It's barely 19:30 and we are reduced to three. Ten minuets later we are plotted up in an old man's pub serving 35ml measures, not all bad.

It's quiet for a Friday, save for a rather rowdy crowd of blokes with suits and ties. Football team? not pretty enough. Rugby team? not buff enough. Just out of jail, or court at least. Almost right, turns out they are CID. Diddies the lot of them.

Another drink girls, don't mind if I do. And so it continued for quite sometime. Voices becoming more high pitched and giggling aplenty. Get a round of shots in, followed swiftly by another. The singing starts. Out of key, out of tune and out of order. My two companions are lightweights and bailed before midnight. Up the road in a cab in a blizzard. Bugger, I'm a night owl and in the absence of my normal late night phone call and online jam session I have a wee bit of greendot action with my antipodean greatmate Corned Beef, who is equally worse for wear.

Saturday sees me having a long walk and a cheeky wee glass of red in the pub with my Ma' n Da'. I meet up with my besto and her bro for a few wee vimto's and the whole thing starts over again. Suffice to say that if you ever come across a bottle of Sailor Jerry you're in for a good night ;-) Have a very short blether with the Pirate at 2am, the poor lamb is on a 36hrs exersice (hence the drunken mayhem....home alone) Get to bed at 4am and worry ever so slightly that I might not do very well on my run today!

I needn't have though. I must have been hanging round with the Pirate too long. Water off a ducks back. Cracking run. I had one last section of the Clyde Walkway to recy and with a wee bit of retracing my steps I managed 10 miles. A mere warm up for all you crazies out there, but for me, an achievement.

So a weekend of drunken mayhem it was. I must be getting old. I had an offer of an evening of nice wine, great conversation, wit, humor and only the merest mention of bottoms and I knocked it back. Two nights back to back is one thing. Three is just plain crazy.
Pass the port ;-)

My new shiny white shoes....... are a lovely shade of muck and shuch. I didn't even tell you about the cows ;-)

Hasta,
Mrs Mac x

And The Winner Is???

A pretty major disaster struck and emergency plan B had to come in to play.

My colleague and Yummy Mummy Ann, got herself carted off to hospital last night and dropped me right in the proverbial.

Plan A would have seen her collect the baby of the firm from a road side hotel on the M8 and bomb it along to Embra toon, where I would meet up with them at our conference this morning. We were up for an award and Ann was the man with the plan. She was the one prepped by the organisers to have a speech ready and what it should contain. Shoe in, defo red carpet moment, must remember to thank my agent.

Reality being I had to take a massive detour from my planned bit of back road action and an extra half hour in my scratcher to rendevous at the Dakota (what that all about?? all blacked out and mysterious looking)

Holy shit, 40 minuets to travel a mile and a half!! Nearly two and a half hours on the M8 did not set me up well for my moment of glory. I really should have gatecrashed Corned Beef's gaff and kipped there last night.

A whole days conference of stuff that I already knew for a half hour award ceremony, even my gaffer who travelled East to make the acceptance speech to save me from making an arse of myself was losing the will to live.

Eventually, the music struck up and in flounced a geezer in a tin flute and bow tie and a burd in a floor length sparkly number. It was a physical activity conference?!?

My gaffer and I all dry mouthed and sweaty palmed. Waited in anticipation.


And the winner is............

Drum roll.......

Da Da !!


NOT US


Cue fake smiley faces and muttering under our breath.

So, Ann, the Yummy Mummy who tried her hand at bed blocking, as well as being a project officer; was a podiatrist and physio for a few Scottish fitba teams in a past life.

Asked her to check out my plates of meat a few weeks ago. Rolled up my trouser leg and flexed and stretched a bit.

How does it look Ann?

How the hell can you run? Your feet are f*cked.

So, justly humiliated I take myself of to Athelite with news of my 'severely over pronated' right foot and pleaded for help.

Good service is not often commented on, people like to moan, but the lassie there was brilliant.

I searched for it. But found no trace of ' what's this wobbly bumed wummin doing in my shop looking for serious running shoes' etched across her face. She got me out of Asics for the first time in six years and into a pair of Brooks Adrenaline GTS 10. OMG I'm in lurve. They are amazing.

True Romance

Oh I’m so bad at this.

I’ve said before how when I’ve got something to say I 'aint got time to write and when I’ve got time I ‘aint got nuttin to say.

Well, blimey have I been busy!!!

That crazy man MacDonald has turned me into a bloody race organiser. Before I had the chance to make my usual excuses I had been convinced about how great an idea it was. So come the 17^th of July I’ll bee standing at Partick Railway Station poised to shout “GO!”

The Clyde Stride has taken over my life in the last couple of months, but I am loving it. Weekends spent reccying the route and trying to prevent the Pirate from getting lost. Quality!!

The funniest thing to happen recently is Jon Steele asking for me to help Mike Mason man a checkpoint on the Hardmoors 55 on March 20^th. OMG can you imagine it? the pair of us shacked up together for hours with poor unsuspecting runners to abuse. I better be on my best behaviour though. I hear he a bit of a face in the Essex underworld :-}

So it was Valentines Day this week. Awwwww how romantic? Gorg red roses (which cost a fortune, or so I’m told) and a lovely dinner .Yeah but before that I was dragged round a mud bath of an 8 mile run, just for fun.

I never used to “do” Valentines. Maybe I had the right idea.

I Like Kids. Couldn't Eat a Whole One Though

I always thought I was good with kids.
I've worked with them for years. Coaching various sports, holiday play clubs and the like.
You know the ones where hoards of weans get packed off to massive sport centers all day for two pound fifty a pop. Yeah? you get the idea.
Always though I was quite good at coming up with new games and ideas of daft things to do. A lot of the time involving loads of glitter, copious amounts of non brand stick type glue and quite a few feathers.

Something disastrous has happened. I don't know if it's because my weans are grown up now or if the 'grumpy old' gene has migrated from the Pirate and is now plotted up in my heid, but on Saturday evening I became part of a growing band of 'grumpy olds'.
People like the NCP car park attendant with a limp who shouts at you "Oi pal! ye canny park there"
or the miserable janny that wont "git yer baw aff the roof" or the crabbit granny who forbids you from using her best cushions as steering wheels as you lollop round her living room playing F1 with your wee brother.

Me one of THEM can you believe it?

Picture the scene. Winter is still here. (I know, there's a whole other post in there)
You've travelled 400 hundred miles on a train that got delayed for nearly 2 hours.
Your one and only fails to meet you from the train as promised cos he's oot wi a WHW matey for a few bevvies.
Your nose is streaming like the River Tay in spate.
And yer Maw and Da have just jetted out to Goa for a fortnight (lucky bar stewards)

The snow that hampered your journey has brought London to a standstill. Gritters pah!! whats that. You enquire as to whether there are any 'yellow bins' around and told, No we don't have them here. Only to locate one of said bins not 100 meters from the front door.

And this was it my moment of glory.
The one and only hill in deepest darkest Ashtead is located at the entrance of whatshisnames close. The approach road none the less.
There was I, Mrs Mac. Ski jacket, Berghaus waterproof breeks (minus security tag) buff, gloves the lot!!

Gritting the road........

.......while the kids were STILL sledging on it!!!!!!

I keep checking under my hat, looking for the big white streak.
I think I might be turning into Cruella De Vil.

Mrs Mac x